Mavs/Suns Game 2 & 3: The Weekend Condensed Version

Oh, the text messages flowed. They flowed like lies from a politician, like promises from a celebrity in rehab, like nuts from a squirrel. The messages were basically the same: “My team is beating your team. Eat it.” As I sat there in my Dirk Nowitzki jersey and silver shorts, watching the game and cursing my inability to play basketball, the text messages flew westward from Tucson. Finally, at halftime, I put a stop to it – I called the minx. We talked it out, reached a point of mutual team dislike, and parted as suspended friends – suspended pending the outcome of the game, of course. Much to Laurie’s chagrin, my Mavs prevailed, and there was much crying, wringing of hands and Nashing (purposely misspelled) of teeth. It’s all good – game 3 is on Sunday. They’ll have their chance.

Game 3: Mavs 95, Suns 88

Hell, I don’t even have to say much about this game, except that Tim Thomas is a punk. Yeah, I said it. OK, so he got fouled hard on his way to a monster slam dunk (which he missed, thus making it a good hard foul). But as he was walking to the free throw line, why did the prissy man have to intentionally bust THROUGH the Mavericks huddle? There was absolutely no reason that. He could’ve walked around, or waited until they ended their strategy conversation, but NOOOOOOOOOO. He had to be a big man and walk through them, throwing his shoulder into Jason Terry. Bam. Double technical. That’s a punk move, and that’s why Dirk punked his ass all night long. And Laurie? The shit-talking started early, and flowed like blueberry syrup at IHOP.

8:24pm, Central Time: “Are you sad?”

Until after halftime, that is. Then, the bird got strangely quiet. And as you know, Laurie goes with quiet like smart goes with Mike Tyson. I heard nothing as the Mavs erased an 12 point deficit. Well, except this:

9:26pm, Central Time: “I am sick…We were up by twelve”

But I’ll give her this: when the game was over, she congratulated me and the team, saying we earned the victory.

That was big of her, and I know it hurt…her…soul to say that. I give you props, L. You’re accepting defeat with class and grace. I hear Raja Bell might be back for the next game. Let’s see what happens in Game 4.

I’m not shit-talking you at all – in fact, I’m kinda proud of you, given that by your own admission, you’re a sore loser. You’re handling this very well. CP’s just instigatin’. You know she wouldn’t handle this NEARLY as well as you. She’d be all crying, yelling, weeping, hurtin’ her knee again, cursing the gods – all that shit. CP, baby…so you wanna be startin’ somethin’, you got to be startin’ somethin’…